


Ghost of a Nation

by lovexender



Category: DreamSMP, mcyt
Genre: Bad at tagging, DreamSMP - Freeform, F/M, Spoilers, Wilbur X Reader, in-game canon, mcyt - Freeform, one shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29389914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovexender/pseuds/lovexender
Summary: Hey everyone! This is the in-game DreamSMP one-shot book I have for Wilbur. This is ONLY his character, not him. The character he plays. Enjoy!female pronouns!
Relationships: Wilbur Soot/Reader, Wilbur x Reader - Relationship
Kudos: 42





	1. The meaning of a name

“It seems like you have many memories, Ghostbur.” A small smile overcame Y/Ns features, staring at her hands intertwined in her lap.

“Y/N, how come you call me Ghostbur?”

She blinked, her smile falling as she squeezed her hands tighter. She gathered the courage to look up to the pale and grim looking figure that was once her best friend.

She blinked away guiltily, biting at her nail.

“Is… is that question not making you happy?”

She widened her eyes, looking back at him. 

“It’s… it’s a long story, I guess.” She responded, her eyelashes lowering to the grass.

Wilbur- or rather Ghostbur, placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I… I think I would like for you to call me Wilbur.” He asked, treading the line between comfortable and uncomfortable.

Y/N felt a chill go down her spine at his hand, and his words.

“I’m sorry but, I don’t think I’m okay with that.” She stood up abruptly, dusting off her leather armored pants.

“Why not? Everybody else calls me Wilbur.”

She turns to him again after placing a few steps between where he sat and where she stood.

“Ghostbur, I understand. At least, as much as I can. It’s just… you’re happy. You’re… different.”

“You mean I’m not Wilbur.” He says sadly, meeting her tearful gaze.

She swallowed, the words she spoke hurting her. “No, you aren’t.”

Ghostbur stood up, clenching his fists. Anger, that’s what this was.The only emotion he’d shown besides dismissal and sadness.

“Why can’t I be? How come I’m not him, Y/N? What makes me so different from him?” Ghostbur exclaimed, anger rising in his voice.

Y/N felt herself grow colder. He was acting too much like his past self. Perhaps it was him, after all.

No, it wasn’t.

“You’re just… different! I can’t explain it, okay?”

He scoffs, crossing his arms. “I have his memories. I have my memories.The good ones. The ones that should matter!”

Y/N looked at him sadly as he turned his eyes away from her.

“Ghostbur… I know you don’t understand. You can’t understand. It’s just…”

She sniffed, wiping her eyes. “The man that fought for his country, his freedom, the people he loves… the man with the drive, the heart… the memories! He’s gone, Ghost.It just… it hurts too much to pretend he isn’t.”

He looked back to her, his eyes and expression falling at her state.

“Once, you told me something.” Ghostbur spoke, Amelia looking up to see him touching her cheek softly. She leaned into his touch unconsciously. Although any warmth was seeped from his life, his body, she still found comfort in the rough yet soft hands that held her.

“You told me that no matter what, you’d be by my side. Do you remember?”

Y/N looked away shyly. Of course she remembered that conversation. She was close to telling him the truth about how she felt, but she knew it wasn’t the right time. It was under a cherry tree on a beautiful fall night.

“Yeah, I do.”

“So, be by my side. Stay by my side. It doesn’t have to be forever… just for now.” He spoke, and when Y/N met his eyes, she swore she could see the same expression Wilbur used to give her whenever they had a heartfelt talk. Reassurance… anything.

Although it hurt, Y/N shyed away from his touch. She didn’t dare look at his expression. She knew she wouldn't be able to bear the emotion he’d show.

“We’re friends, Ghostbur. That won’t change. But the promise I made to Wilbur was to Wilbur. Not you. Not whatever memories you have. Him.”

She immediately began to walk away, tears already forcing their way down her cheeks and lump growing larger and larger inside her throat.

“I will always remember you, Y/N.”

With his words, She hesitated.

“You only remember what you want to remember, Ghost. You don’t even remember the last words Wilbur said to me.”

She began to walk away again, until his voice made her halt.

“Take care of L’manberg for me, Y/N. Sword and honor. Our L’manberg, ours.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, and continued to walk away.

Maybe; she thought, Maybe with time she would grow to learn about him. But within her soul, within her last life that was shielded within the walls she created, within her heart. She knew that Wilbur was gone, gone for good. And no matter what memories lingered in his ghost, he would never truly return.


	2. Promises Broken

Y/N didn’t understand why she found herself under the apple tree. Maybe it was a comfort to her, because her heart began to stir just as it had when Wilbur was alive.

She sat next to the crooked wooden cross, which marked where her best friend laid.

She sniffed, wiping her eyes against her sleeve. Well, not her sleeve. It was one of the many cloaks WIlbur had gotten her. She used to travel all over the DreamSMP as a merchant and sellsword, so he insisted she stay warm during the coldest nights without him.

“Damn it, Wil. You couldn’t even keep your promise to me, huh? What should I have expected from a psycho.” Y/n spat out, punching the ground lightly in retort.

But, she knew she didn’t mean the words she said. Wilbur was only doing what he thought was right, and she couldn’t blame him for his beliefs.

“Y/N?” She heard the familiar dead voice speak from in front of her, causing her to look up.

There he was, in soul.

“Why’d you do it, Wil?” She spoke before thinking, her eyebrows furrowed in anger and a frown evident on her face.

He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, Wilbur. Why’d you do it.” She laughed slightly to herself, pulling at her her softly to relieve stress.

“I don’t, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m sorry, am I supposed to?”

“Yes, Wilbur! You’re supposed to remember! God, how dense are you?! What kind of ghost doesn’t remember their life, Wilbur?”

She yelled out, slamming her hand on the ground harder this time.

Ghostbur clutched hsi chest, coughing. “Could you please not do that? I can feel the vibrations-”

“No, you can’t! Wilbur is fucking dead! His body, is dead! He can’t feel anything, you idiot! You’re numb! You’re a ghost, for gods sake!” She sobbed into her hands. Ghostbur dropped onto his knees, placing his hand on her shoulder.

“Why are you even here?! I thought you’re all about happiness! You hate sadness, so why are you here!?”

Ghostbur looked sad as he sat next to you, placing his hand on your back.

“If it’s you, I don’t mind. I’ll do what I can to make you happy, Y/N.”

She laughed dryly, unable to fret over his kind hearted words.

“You know what would make me happy, Wilbur?”

He blinked, shrugging. “What? I’ll try my best.”

She laughed once more, before meeting his eyes with her eyes tearful and cheeks stained.

“You go back and rebuild L’manberg, block by block.”

She stood up, pushing herself from the ground with a stumble.

“You destroyed, everything, Wilbur! You, you, you killed a nation! You hurt everyone with your selfish, selfish beliefs! Things were getting better, Wilbur! Why in the world would you decide to do something like that?!”

His face looked cold and pitying, as he watched her sob into her hands.

“Niki’s bakery, the buildings, the paths we used to walk, everything, Wil… you took it all from us. You destroyed our home.”

“And now, and now Fundy, your son, is getting adopted by Eret! Eret, the same Eret who stabbed you in the back all those years ago! You are letting your son go to that horrible man!”

“Fundy, fundy needs a father, a father I can’t be-”

“You’re his father, for gods sake! You don’t know where Sally is, and you lost your son. And for heavens, your father…”

She trailed off, staring at his gravestone with a hatred.

“Phil killed me, right?”

Y/n turned her head to face him. She nodded sadly, her hands in fists besides her.

“And he killed me because I destroyed L’manberg, right?” Ghostbur asks.  
  
She nodded once again, sitting cross-legged in front of the grave.

“I want you back here, Wilbur. But I can’t… I don’t know whether or not it would be worth it. Am I taking you for granted, Wil?”

When Y/N looked up, for a split second, she swore Wilbur was not wearing his clothing, instead wearing the coat he so adored with the ragged beanie hanging off his hair. A red and bloody stab wound, right in his chest.

Her breath caught in her throat. She blinked, and he was back to normal.

“Do you remember anything about that day?” She asked in a timid voice, quieter than she was previously.

He nodded slowly. “I know that Philza… my father… killed me because I asked him to.”

“I also remember you coming to me, holding me to your chest. You whispered sweet nothings, kissing my head and promising me everything would be alright.”

Y/N didn’t ever think, in a million years, that Wilbur, or what was left of him, would remember that.

“Why do you remember that, of all things?”

“Because it was something that made me happy, Y/N.”

She couldn’t stop herself as she crawled over and softly embraced Ghostbur in an embrace. There was no warm on his, not even a trace. It was like hugging ice.

Her tears fell onto his sweater, as he held her tighter against him.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry, Ghostbur. But I know that if you were truly Wilbur, if you remembered everything, everything down to the last morsel, you wouldn’t be sorry at all.”

He nodded against you as you stuffed your face into his shoulder.

“Maybe that’s true, but I’m sorry for causing you pain. I remember you made me very happy, and that I would hate myself if I caused you pain. So, I’m sorry I’m making you hurt.”

“It’s okay-”

Before she could respond, he was out of her grip and she was laying on the ground.

Bastard apperated away.

Y/N blinked up at the stars above. 

“Wilbur, I’m the one who’s sorry…”


	3. broken hearts on broken crosses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> reader moves on from the tramuatic events of the dreamsmp. testing out writing style.

i blink, but nothing happens. it wasn't like i was expecting anything to happen. i thought maybe if i blinked a certain way, a certain second, i could shift realities into a reality where everything was flowers and rainbows.

but it wasn't. the wooden cross was still there, tilted slightly to the left as moss grows up the right side. ants made their way around the bottom, carrying a crumb of cheese or whatever they could find.

i sigh, sitting down and crossing my legs on the wet grass. it had rained the previous night, a thunderstorm so fierce i could hear it all the way underground. the pillow wrapped around my head did nothing to stop the loud strikes. i figured it was striking the grass, because when i emerged the next day, most of the grass was charred.

techno's been letting me stay in his house for a while. its surrounded by winter, nothingness for miles, and the only living being is the monsters outside and techno's horses.

i stayed there for some time, then left around the time... his... anniversary arrived. i left without telling techno, to his dismay, but i had a nightmare and just needed... out.

i almost stole one of his horses, but i had enough sense to not steal from the so-called blade. i tailed it out of there with nothing but a spare cape and clothes on my back.

tommy died while i was gone. i had only found out because when i went to talk to ghostbur, he was gone, and philza had informed me of his passing. dream had beat him to death in their prison cell.

i think i threw up when i found out. i didn't know. phil told me i passed out after he told me, and i woke up with clumps of blue lapis in my pockets.

and ever since then, all we've been doing is grieving.

grieving the loss of our friend. our partner. our brother in bounds.

i was practically a mother to him. tubbo, too. i gave him food, shelter, clothing. i made him feel at home, and i would be lying if i said i didn't think of him as my own.  
wilbur did too, i think. when he was alive. he tells me stories of things he remembers. he remembers how it feels to breathe, though he can't anymore. he told me he likes to visualize what it feels like.

he remembers alot of things, actually. he remembers what i smell like. ghosts can't exactly feel anything, smell, taste. but when he's around me, he swears on his ghost, ironically, that he is overtaken by the smell of orange and vanilla.

he remembers my hair. he remembers running his hands through it by the campfire. he remembers how frizzy it gets when it gets hot, and how annoying i acted when my scalp was sweaty.

he remembers when i told him i love him. and when he kissed me on that same night, in the rain. it was something out of a fairytale, he remembers me saying.

im not entirely sure if he remembers when i cradled him in my arms when he was already dead. or how i begged for him to come back, even when he was too far gone. the arguments, the shouting and yelling, fundy continuing to run away, none of it. he only remembers the good. the good, never the bad and horrible and terrifying and crushing reality.

dream made claims that he would bring wilbur back. schlatt, too. and for once in my miserable existence without him, i had hope. it was a short string, a red one that faded into the sky. i tugged and tugged on it to break, hoping my dreams would be shattered. but it never did.

the string is still there, if i so wanted. but it has been months since tommy died, and wilbur is still dead and jshlatt won't be wrecking havoc anytime soon.

i think ghostbur is somewhere around here, because i can feel my pockets getting heavier. i dig my hands in, searching for that blue enchanting gem, but it isn't there. perhaps i may be going insane.

even if he is watching, i hope he feels it too. i hope it reminds him what it's like to be human.

i hope he knows that it'll be okay. that i'll be okay. my heart is ripped into pieces, and i don't quite think it'll return anytime soon. but, with him by my side, and looking towards the future of this world, i can't help but remain hopeful to the idea that his legacy... his old legacy, our legacy, tommy's legacy, will continue to save and fix our broken world.


End file.
